Chapter 11
James
Cookies on your desk. I swear they’re not poisoned.
Adam
Cool. Ben can have the first one.
James
Father of the Year
Did I overthink the entire cookie-making process start to finish, from questioning whether I should make oatmeal raisin out of sheer spite to wondering if Adam preferred chewy to crispy? Absolutely I did.
Buttercup.
What the hell was that about?
And why did it make me feel…warm? As warm and soft as the inside of the cookies I had baked him, hoping he liked it that way.
Like that was an appropriate way to feel about my boss.
I wasn’t here to catch gooey feelings for a grumpy cowboy. I was here to train an unrideable horse.
I was here to prove my dad wrong.
With that in mind, I headed for Belle’s stall.
“Morning, Ted,” I said as I passed him in the aisle.
“Hey there, James,” Ted greeted me with a smile.
He seemed a little aimless. Not lost, exactly. But unsure. I paused. “Do you need something?”
“Nah. Just missed the horses, that’s all. Figured I’d say hello to my old friends. I haven’t spent as much time here as I used to.”
Before his wife died. That’s what he meant. I nodded in understanding. “I keep a bag of carrots in the breakroom. You’re welcome to them.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll do a deep clean of the saddles, too. Might as well since I’m here.”
It almost sounded like he was asking for permission. “That would be great.”
“Good.” He grinned. “I’ll do that, then.”
For the rest of the week, I focused my attention on Belle. I spent the next week slowly and carefully rebuilding her foundation. The more time I spent with her, the curiouser I became. It was clear that she loved people and was eager to please. She also had a sly sense of humor, often knocking over the bucket of grooming brushes at the end of a session to show she wanted more scratches. What was it she hated about riding?
Some horses hated work, but Belle was far from lazy. Another possibility was that she simply hated being told what to do. That would pose a bigger obstacle to overcome if she was ever going to be a reining champion. Reining was all about communication, discipline, and eagerness to do the work asked for by the rider.
Something told me that obstinacy wasn’t Belle’s issue. I hoped I was right. Otherwise, she was going to need a new career, and I very much doubted Adam would be thrilled about that.
The lore surrounding Belle was almost legend at this point. She had only been ridden once, no tack. No saddle. No bridle. Just the weight of a rider she loved. Maybe I was a sentimental fool—my dad would certainly say so—but the story of Belle’s first and only ride stuck with me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the key to everything.
So that’s where I started.
On Thursday, while giving her a thorough brushing, I kicked over the bucket, used it as a stool, and leaned over her back to continue brushing her other side. Under the guise of grooming, I gave her most of my weight. She didn’t seem to notice, much less care.
On Friday, I didn’t even pretend. There in her stall, I sprawled over her back, giving her my full weight, letting my legs dangle a bit. She grabbed a mouthful of hay and chewed contentedly.
When Saturday rolled around, I figured Belle had earned her break. Our first week had ended on a high note, and that was something to feel proud about. Tomorrow the real work would start.
I bit my lip. Maybe I should text Chloe and cancel the whole sewing circle thing. Ted had made it clear he took weekends seriously, but still. There was so much work to be done. Belle and Magpie were scheduled for a day of turnout, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t work with another horse.
On the other hand, I was new in town, and while I didn’t mind spending time alone, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was lonely. For me, good girlfriends were crucial to good mental health. Hannah’s sewing circle was an opportunity to make some friends.
Anyway, I had a whole list of chores to do, too. Thanks to the seventeen-hour drive from California to Colorado, my SUV needed an oil change and a wash. I had a larger-than-normal pile of laundry to do, groceries to pick up, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek at the shops on Main Street and maybe find something to cozy up my cabin a bit.
On the long dirt lane that ran from the big house to county road, I saw Adam out in the cow pasture on horseback and I couldn’t help it, I eased my foot off the gas so I could watch as my SUV rolled by at two miles per hour. The chestnut gelding must be a young one, because it was clear he didn’t quite have the hang of his job yet.
But Adam sure did.
My god, the man was magnificent on a horse. Calm and steady, all the power of his muscled form never veering into brutality. He was in control of himself and the animal every single second. This was a man who loved his work and did it damned well.
And then—a breakthrough. The chestnut headed off a cow that broke from the herd. A grin flashed across Adam’s face, there and gone again, like the sun peeking through a storm cloud. Even from a distance, it hit me like a lightning strike.
Jesus.
I clamped my thighs together and hit the gas. One thing I would not be doing this weekend was wasting time lusting after my boss.
“You came.” There was a note of eager surprise in Hannah’s voice that made me think I wasn’t the only one who needed girlfriends.
Chloe followed in my shadow as best she could, considering she had a solid five inches on me. She wasn’t completely sold on either the sewing circle or Hannah and regarded anything that happened before noon on a weekend with deep suspicion. But she was here anyway because I wanted to come. That boded well for our friendship.
My bribe of brunch and mimosas after probably didn’t hurt, either.
“I know I called it a sewing circle, but it’s really more of a sewing line,” Hannah said, indicating the row of brilliantly patterned Turkish floor pillows lined neatly against the wall opposite the door. “We use this room for yoga, too, so it doesn’t have any tables. I thought it would be better to have some back support.”
“Is it just us?” Chloe asked, eyeing the five pillows suspiciously.
“A few others could show up,” Hannah hedged. She grabbed each of us by an elbow and steered us across the room. “But let’s go ahead and get started. I created a sampler for each of you so you can learn the more common stitches. French knots, chain stitch, satin stitch, stem stitch. The best way to learn is by making something pretty, so I incorporated the different types of stitches into a flower garden.”
We settled onto the cushions and Hannah walked us through getting started. She showed us how to place the fabric in the bamboo hoop so it was tight as a drum, how to separate the thread into multiple strands, and how to thread the needle with a bit of scotch tape.
“We’ll start with the satin stitch because you’re going to use it a lot. It’s also super easy, but if you don’t pay attention, it can look like a hot mess in no time.”
Chloe and I didn’t say much as we concentrated on learning the stitches. Hannah was right. It was easy to catch on, but also easy to screw up.
“Where did you learn how to do this?” I asked. I didn’t know anyone who could sew.
“Oh, all the girls on the compound learned pretty young. It was part of our schooling. Sewing, cooking, and homemaking.” Hannah leaned in to get a better look at my stitches. “Make sure you place them right next to each other. Don’t be afraid to take it out and try again if it gets crooked.”
Chloe and I looked at each other. The compound? I mouthed.
“What did the boys learn?” Chloe asked.
“Math and Bible study.”
“Ew,” Chloe said. “Tell me more about that.”
I nudged her with my elbow. “Rude,” I hissed.
Hannah’s lips quirked up. “It is pretty ew. Someday I’ll tell you more about it, okay? A little bit at a time. I don’t like to focus on it. If I think on it too much, I get…” She jabbed her needle through the fabric hard enough that I could swear I heard the ping.
“Stabby?” I suggested.
Her lips tilted in amusement. “I was going to say annoyed.”
Chloe nodded and turned her attention back to her own hoop of fabric. “Do you know what annoys James?” she asked conversationally, like the mousy town librarian hadn’t just confessed she had been raised in a religious cult. “Her smoking hot boss.”
I gasped. “Chloe!”
“It’s called a segue, James.”
“It’s called throwing me under the bus, Chloe.”
She looked at me, her green eyes wide and far too knowing. “Are you saying you don’t want to talk about him, James?”
I narrowed my own eyes back at her despite the words threatening to burble out of my stupid mouth. Because maybe I did want to talk about my smoking hot boss.
Hannah’s gaze ping-ponged between us, her face scrunched up like she was trying not to laugh. “Did you know women have been meeting like this for centuries? Communities would form sewing circles for charitable causes, or sometimes less formally, just to make a quilt or something for a new mother or a family in need. That was the main point of a sewing circle. But the other important part was to give them a reason to sit and talk to friends.”
It was the way she said friends, with that same eager hopefulness I had noted earlier, that made me say, “Okay, let me tell you about my boss, because you will not believe what he called me.”
And when Hannah and Chloe leaned closer, I felt a little shimmy of giddiness in my chest. Aspen Springs wasn’t home. Not yet. Half my heart and a good portion of my soul were still yearning for Blue Skies.
But I was feeling more settled in my choice to be here every day.